She Was
by Sayuriko
Summary: The only darkness found in this world are the ones in our hearts. We either choose to fight the darkness or we give in to it. Warnings: Character deaths, angst.


Disclaimer: InuYasha is owned by Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan Inc. and Viz Media

Warnings: Angst and Character Deaths.

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_You_ _keep_ _cutting me apart_; _shredding my heart into little pieces_. _Bit_ _by_ _bit_, _it tears me apart. _

She was 15 and she was in love. He had golden eyes and a sweet self-depreciating smile and when he looked at her, his gaze betrayed what he couldn't say; what he wouldn't say. He stood tall and proud in front of her, his hair whipping around his shoulders like a silver halo. Her hanyou; her first love; her only love. It didn't matter that he hadn't reciprocated her feelings, at least not openly. She knew. She knew by the way he touched her, by the way he looked at her, by the way he protected her. Yes, she knew.

She was 18 and she was ecstatic. A great evil had been defeated. After 3 years, life could move on. She had her friends; they had their lives. Floating on the tide of euphoria, she was in love. She finally had her hanyou and he had her. The future shone bright before them; the world at their feet. She was in love and it would be all right; everything would be all right.

She was 21 and she was drenched in despair. Blissful years wrapped in harmony were suddenly torn apart in a moment of nightmarish proportions. A night of silence erupted in the shrill cries of youkai descending upon the unsuspecting village. Always the protector; always the saviour, he was over-taken. Fighting her way to his side, she held him in her arms as his life slipped away; leaving behind broken dreams, a broken spirit. The new moon hidden in the shadows of the heavens. She would never look at the moon the same way.

She was 24 and she was adrift. The magic of the well had dispersed leaving her with only memories. Lost friends, lost dreams, lost hope. Cloaked in loneliness and misery, she was drowning, slowly choking on memories. Standing at the abyss, she wanted to plummet over the edge and never look back. Her family held tight. They reined her in and wrapped her in their love. They dared not let her go. They tried to save her. They tried to piece together her soul with love, with patience. She smiled indulgently at them, sadden by their false hope. How could they know that she was already lost?

She was 27 and she was determined. Standing on the edge, always on the outside, looking in. She was a stranger; to her family; to herself. She heard the whispers; she saw the looks. Breaking the strangled hold on her heart, she grasped and held tight to the edge. At a crossroads, she stood — not moving — not knowing which direction to go. A choice made; a new job, a new city, perhaps a new life. Never forgetting, but perhaps she could live again. Holding, clutching the splintered pieces of her soul, she turned away and said good-bye.

She was 30 and she was indifferent. Working in a high-rise in a city of millions, she was surrounded by many, but loved by none. Cold, calculated, ruthless, she lived her days without thought to others and lived her nights without thought to herself. She took meaningless pleasure where she could; co-workers, clients, strangers. She fucked them all trying to forget — at least for a moment — that she had once been loved. What did it matter what she did with the flesh when the heart was dead? Trying desperately to wipe away the desolation, the pain soon became the pleasure.

She was 36 and she was ashamed. A stranger stared out at her through the mirror: cold eyes, a colder heart. The lust of the previous night was fresh in the air and she suffocated from its fumes. It permeated her flesh, her very soul. She curled up into a ball and fisted a hand to her mouth to stifle the screams. Crippled with humiliation and guilt, she thought of him. She saw his disappointment; his accusations. A life passed, but not lived. Oh God, what had she become?

She was 42 and she was back. More good-byes, more heartache. Jii-Chan, now Mama. The shrine was hers now. Back to the place of her birth; this is where she belonged. This was where she was loved. Once. She was her Mama's daughter. She was raised well. She had just forgotten the lessons. She stood at the crossroads again; unsure, afraid. A decision made. Yes, she would take over the Shrine; to uphold the tradition; to uphold the honour; to finally make her family proud. Where was the girl she once was? Perhaps she could find herself again.

She was 48 and she was saved. She stood by their tree and cried; tears of sorrow, tears of shame. For a life wasted. For a life not wanted; not without him. She prayed and he answered. She asked for forgiveness. He understood. She was given absolution of the flesh, of the soul. It was a step towards salvation.

She was 57 and she was at peace. Looking out at the Shrine, her soul was calm. She approached the sacred tree to seek peace in its immemorial presence. A life lived with regrets, with sorrow, with pain. Now finally, with acceptance. The shame washed away with the rain, leaving behind a soul — broken, fractured, but mending — slowing healing with the passage of time. Yes, she would heal, she would mend, but she would never forget.

She was 66 and she was old. Her hands were wrinkled and her heart was sore. Trying to grasp reality as it slipped away, she floated through the days reliving her memories. She smiled, she laughed and she talked, but only to her hanyou. He was alive again. Walking in a dream, she filled her days with his laughter, his light, his love. Too many years passed; too many days living in only memories. She was alone, but she had always been alone. Alone, ever since that fateful night.

She was 75 and she was tired. Tired of living; tired of life. Tired of the memories that filled her years; that filled her heart. Tired of being alone; so alone. She walked to their tree; it would always be their tree. As she approached, her steps became lighter and her vision became clearer. Looking down, her hands were free of the wrinkles and touching her face, she felt only smoothness. Looking up, she saw him; her angel in red. Crying, running, she threw herself at him.

He caught her.

_How_? She asked.

_I_ _waited_. He answered.

_I_'_m_ _sorry_. She cried.

_I_ _know_. He forgave.

She was 30 again, and she wasn't alone.

She was 24 again, and she was in love.

She was 18 again, and this time she would be all right.

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A/N: This was originally posted over at Mediaminer. I never got around to posting this here until now. Hope you enjoyed it.


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